


Wounded

by Vrunka



Series: Version 2.0 [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Overstimulation, Prostate Massage, probably too many feelings, some feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 06:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15835617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Gavin gets his ass handed to him.Metaphorically.But also like...not.





	Wounded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gayfishman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayfishman/gifts).



> Commission for gayfishman, the lovely Qyoo who talked me down from the ledge on this fic over and over.

Gavin gets shot.

It’s one of those things that in his line of work is a pretty sure inevitability. But it’s still jarring.

A surprise.

He’s following leads from the latest crime scene toward a dilapidated warehouse he is pretty sure is abandoned. RK900 is digging around somewhere behind him, rooting through the body’s pockets. Crushed in skull, blood spatter on the pavement, the concrete walls. 

They have not, will not, talk about their last encounter and what happened. Gavin still feels raw all over, scabbed, but this latest murder is a welcome distraction. Something to take his mind off the whole mess.

It installed a goddamn dick.

It installed a dick all for Gavin.

Holy shit. There’s a gravity and weight to that realization, and to RK900’s reaction to being called deviant, that Gavin hadn’t fully appreciated when on his knees and breathing that cock like it was sweet air. There’s a lot of information there that Gavin just needs to pick up and piece together.

Except right now there are more important and pressing details to focus on.

Gavin eyes the building. Broken windows. The exterior seems to sag, run down. Closed for god knows how long. There aren’t many areas this shitty left in the city, leave it to their victim—Edward Collins, RK900 had told him within the first few minutes of studying the scene, blood on its lips, testing for drugs and no Gavin was not not Not reading into that—to get his shit fucked at such an unsavory location.

He stares up at the building.

“Hey, I’m gonna check out in here,” he says. He can feel RK900 glance up at him, movement in his peripheral. He’s not specifically talking to the android anyway. Could be addressing one of the other beat cops who are just hanging around the scene waiting for the detectives to finish up their work.

He could be talking to anyone, but it’s RK900 who says: “Just be careful, Detective.”

Which is probably why Gavin goes in so recklessly.

He kicks down the door with a flare and a show that is much more dramatic than the situation calls for. The shattering of the wood around the lock is satisfying, rolls in his gut. He steps into the darkness of the building, tossing a smirk over his shoulder in the tin man’s direction.

It’s the turn of the head that saves him.

The first shot grazes his temple instead of tagging him between the eyes. The second rips through his shoulder, sudden, blazing pain. Blooming from the point of entry. Almost welcome at first, warmth against the cold, cold Detroit winter, but then the heat morphs and grows and Gavin is on the ground, staring up at the sky and there’s movement around him all sorts of movement and shouting.

He sits up.

His shoulder screams with every twitch. Throbs in a sharp, echoing retort.

Gavin shakes his head.

Framed in the doorway he had kicked open is RK900. Holding a handgun. Yellow muzzle flashes illuminating the dark interior of the warehouse.

Someone inside yells.

Gavin starts to pull himself up. Hands under his armpits, steadying him, one of those officers from the perimeter control, helping him up. Her face lined with worry.

“Are you okay,” she is asking. “Detective you should—we’re calling someone, you shouldn’t move too much.”

But he has to.

RK900 is no longer in the doorway. In pursuit, the glowing lights of his jacket, shimmering further into the building. Gavin’s shoulder is a mess of pain, but he bites his lip and pushes the officer’s hands off of him and he follows the android at a jog.

The pain is bad, but the surging adrenaline dulls it somewhat.

“Detective!” The officer calls.

But Gavin is going, going, already gone.

Following RK900’s trail into the crowded, broken down building. Unused, rusting shipping equipment like dead things, monoliths. The sounds of footsteps and gunfire echoing off the old metal. Streaks of blue Thirium blood and then further in, dashed red.

Gavin rounds an old truck and nearly runs into RK900’s back. A bullet pings off the rearview mirror behind Gavin’s head, glass shatters like raindrops.

RK900 is blood splattered. Blue, blue thirium spilling from a gash on his face, plastic skin of the cheek gone dead and white. Horrific even if Gavin still doesn’t consider him-it fully human. Sickening in a way; Gavin finds himself unable to look too closely.

He stares down at RK900’s jacket instead. Thirium stains on the white button up, blotted and blue like ink.

Another spray of bullets. Gavin ducks his head.

“How many?” He asks.

RK900 looks at him. LED light shuttering yellow as its eyes scan his shoulder. “Two. I hit one. I believe I told you to be careful.”

“Can you save me the fucking lecture,” Gavin bites. “Are they android or—“

“Human. Male. They were too quick for my scan to catch their faces,” it frowns. Cranes its head out from the boxes they are pressed against. Another ricocheting volley of gunfire.

Gavin pulls RK900 back by the shoulder. “Jesus, you’re gonna get shot.”

Those lights again. Flipping through color series so quickly Gavin can barely keep up. “I am almost out of ammo, Detective,” RK900 says.

“That’s what you get playing cowboy. You think they’re our guys?”

As if in answer another bullet hits the mirror, knocks into it with enough force the whole plastic structure comes loose, dangles inches above Gavin’s head.

“The evidence points to that conclusion,” RK900 says. Flatly.

Fucking smartass and at what a time.

“You should stay back, Detective. You are injured.”

“It’s nothing,” Gavin says. He squints, measuring their surroundings in the gloom.

“You are pale, losing blood at steady rate. Stay here, Gavin. You’ll just slow me down at this point.”

“I’ll slow you down? You’re the one almost out of bullets, asshole,” he hisses, leaning close to RK900’s solid form. The android’s hand touches his waist, briefly. Then lifts.

Touches Gavin’s face. Out of turn, out of character, out of place in this place. Gavin blinks. He meets RK900’s unwavering gaze.

“I am sorry,” RK900 says.

And in that moment he looks so much, so much, so fucking much like Connor that it hurts.

It hurts. It hurts.

But not quite as much as the fist that strikes across Gavin’s temple. Punching into the wound there, blinding, blazing pain.

Fucking android...punched him.

Fuckin’—

And then there is darkness.

Gavin comes to with a start. Limbs going stiff and violently snapping to attention. His shoulder—he was shot, oh god he was shot—doesn’t hurt even with the motion. It feels bulky, floating, almost unattached to him.

White hospital ceilings above him, greeting his searching gaze.

Gavin blinks.

He breathes.

Fucking android. Goddamn RK900 piece of tin, glory-hogging shit.

He winces. Whatever drugs they’re pumping into him cannot dull the razor edge of that thought. Or of the worse thought, of RK900’s body on that warehouse floor, bullet-riddled. Bleeding out android blood, Thirium pump regulator shattered like ribs along the cement.

Gavin sits up.

The IV in his arm itches. His body hums. Not fully surfaced from however long he was unconscious. Brain still swimming in the soup of hospital-grade painkillers.

His room is empty, not that he expected much of a welcoming committee but...

His room is empty.

Gavin licks his lips.

He finds the call button and rings for the nurse.

When she—it another android model, Gavin can’t seem to avoid the things—arrives, she isn’t alone. RK900 enters the room, right on the nurse android’s stylishly unrealistic kitten pumps.

It doesn’t look anxious, exactly, but that normally dour expression has been replaced by something else entirely. Tighter around the eyes. More hesitation in the frown. Gavin kind of hates that he recognizes the difference.

He definitely hates that his gut flutters in response to seeing RK900 whole and hale.

Even the deadened skin on its face has been fixed.

Lucky bastard.

“Fuck you,” Gavin says as the door swishes closed behind the two of them.

The nurse android does not flinch. RK900, surprisingly, does. It’s momentary, brief. A shuddering, blipping red of the LED, fingers twitching at its side. Then its expression hardens, that foreign something Gavin had not been able to place smooths away.

“I did apologize, Detective Reed, for the record, before I...”

“Sucker punched me in the goddamn head.”

“That is one way of saying it, yes. I put it rather more delicately in the report.”

“You’ve filed it?”

“While I waited for you to wake. I figured it would be appreciated. We both know how much you hate writing them. I have a copy of your version drawn up, it just needs your signature.”

“My version. Nurse, remove this fucking bot from my goddamn room please. It’s making my fucking blood pressure spike.”

“Your blood pressure is steady, Detective,” RK900 chimes in, before the nurse has even had the chance to say anything. “But I have things to do if you truly do not want me here. If you would rather be left alone.”

Alone, because no one else from the precinct is here.

Alone.

Gavin’s stomach twists. His eyes flutter shut. “No,” he says, before he can stop himself. Not thinking about RK900’s dick, or his frown, or his—fucking its—cruel offer to leave. The weight of its foot across his throat.

No, he’s thinking in justifications that are purely work based. He needs to learn what happened. Then he needs to talk to Fowler.

RK900’s presence helps enable both of those things to happen more quickly than they would if Gavin were stuck in the hospital solo.

“It’s fine,” Gavin says. His feet shift beneath the thin, green blanket. “You can stay. But shut up.” His eyes open, gaze flickering over to the nurse. “What’s my damage?”

“You should be fine,” the nurse says. The lady’s face they built it with moves in soft gestures. She smiles. Gavin’s stomach flexes harder. “You are quite lucky they got you here so quickly. You lost quite a bit of blood. Nothing permanent though. The bullet wound in your arm will take some time to heal but you do not have a concussion.”

“So I can leave?”

Her light blinks a steady yellow for a moment—not just a Connor series tick, and God Gavin hates that he fucking knows that now too, notices it. “You...can check yourself out if so desired. It would not be the recommended course of action, Mister Reed. The doctor—“

“The doc has my thanks for digging the bullet out of me, that’s it. If I can leave I am. I’ll take the checkout paperwork now. Get this fuckin’ tube out of my arm.”

“Fluids were a necessary—“

“I didn’t ask what it was doing there, take it out now.” Gavin’s eyes land on RK900. The look RK900 is giving him. Begrudgingly, through his teeth, Gavin adds: “Please.”

She doesn’t sigh, because Gavin is pretty fucking sure she can’t—nothing to inhale, nothing to process and exhale, no lungs to do it with—but her entire demeanor sighs, chiding him. Her eyes narrow. Some bedside manners.

She steps closer.

Gavin doesn’t watch as she removes the needles from him. He watches RK900’s face instead. The cool, cool expression. Those blue, blue eyes. RK900 hasn’t been cleaned up perfectly, not exactly. Its hair is out of order, more than just that one artful strand falling across its brow. And while the skin seems to be healed, there is a definite line where the deadened pixels had been, which Gavin can see now that he’s looking for it.

A scar of sorts.

Serves the fucker right.

“That hurt,” he asks. Swiping a thumb across his own cheek, mirroring the mark.

RK900 blinks. Shakes its head. “Androids do not register pain in the sense that you mean, Detective.”

“Of course you don’t.”

They lapse into silence. The only sound between them is that of the nurse, doing her job. Gavin hisses as the needle pulls free of him. She doesn’t coo, or coddle him, or make any sound of comfort, and Gavin appreciates that, deep in his gut.

She fiddles around, holding gauze tight against the inside of Gavin’s elbow. He watches the blood bloom onto the sterile white of it until she slaps a bandage over it to keep the whole thing in place.

There are still stains on RK900’s shirt as well. Molted blue that has dried to look like bruises in the white material. Gavin’s throat closes over a deep swallow. His Adam’s apple trembles.

For the first time since waking, he glances at his bundled, trussed shoulder. More hygienic, medical white. Gauze and tape wrapped tight, tight around him. 

“Read this,” the nurse says. She shows him a holoscreen, projected from her palm. Medical jargon, care instructions, Gavin presses a finger to it without reading it. His signature appears at the bottom of the doc, slanted script, looping G.

Gavin swallows again, thinking of the incident report. Imagining what RK900 could have put. Thinking of his signature at the bottom of that document as well, agreeing to the fiction.

“My car here,” he asks. The nurse blinks.

“It is not,” RK900 says.

“Fuck.” Gavin can see it now. His poor Honda sitting in that shitty parking lot, vandalized, keyed, tires slashed.

“I can call you a cab,” RK900 continues, as if Gavin hadn’t spoken.

“You should not be alone for a few hours at least, Mister Reed, until you are sure you are entirely stable.”

Double fuck.

Gavin glares at the nurse. The signed document still shimmering in front of her hand. “Where are my fucking clothes?”

Her eyes narrow again. Arms crossing. If she were human, Gavin would already be endeared to her. The no-nonsense in her approach. Programmed to put up with very little shit from people like him.

“I’ll have someone bring them to you,” she says.

“Thanks,” Gavin says.

And he means it.

But it still takes a full hour for Gavin to get home. Which is ridiculous. He wants his car, wants to go get it, knows he should stop by the precinct as well. There’s bound to be more paperwork, getting shot, even superficially, is a hell of a lot of forms.

But RK900 is strict. And he doesn’t let Gavin have access to the cabby’s programming. A hand on Gavin’s chest as the android keys the info into the GPS mounted on the center console.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

RK900 settles back into the seat next to Gavin. Stiff. Prim. Little things that keep him from seeming entirely human. Uncanny valley moments. Connor had them too.

Gavin blows a frustrated breath between his teeth.

“You should return home. Rest. You are only human, Detective. Your body needs to recover.”

“You were shot too,” Gavin argues.

“But I am not human. Whatever it is you think needs to be done at work, I can assure you that it has, or will be. You can trust me.”

“Yeah. Fucking trust you, huh?” Gavin says. He wants it to be venomous, to come out dripping. Toxic. Instead his tone wavers, bends. Weakness he doesn’t want here, that doesn’t belong. “You could have gotten me fucking killed. Could have gotten you—‘Put it more delicately’ bullshit. Shifted off all the blame for me getting knocked out in the first place. I’m gonna have to fix whatever it is you wrote, you know.”

Gavin leans back against the passenger’s side door. The automatic car beneath them hums, engine rumbling through the metal and out out, through Gavin’s shoulder. Testing the drugs. Cyclical little hurts.

RK900’s hand touches his shoulder—the uninjured one, squeezes. It feels wrong, too intimate again for the two of them. Not exactly soft, not exactly gentle but...not distant either.

Not cold.

Neither of them says anything for a long time.

The city rolls by the window. Detroit winter in full swing, streetlights kicking to life at five-thirty in the afternoon. Little flakes of snow, drifting down onto the car, the windshield.

RK900’s fingers twitch, shivering with inner mechanisms and micro transactions that Gavin can only begin to understand. His mouth opens. It closes. Gavin’s pulse in his throat is suddenly deafening, all consuming.

“There is no directive for this, Detective. I am not—you are...” RK900 cuts himself off. Glares down at his knees. His LED is red again. Circling there for an almost uncomfortable amount of time. “It is not in my programming to allow anything to distract from my mission.”

“Yeah. I got that when you cold clocked me, asshole.”

“You do not understand. To allow you to...to continue assisting me that is...” his light blinks. Shudders. His body twitches. “My programming does not care if you live or die, Detective Reed. Using you as a distraction would have expedited the outcome that—“

“Your programming doesn’t care if I die?”

RK900 nods. It’s hand drops off of Gavin’s shoulder. Curls on the seat between them. “Is that a surprise to you?”

“I guess not.” Gavin looks back out the window. Nearing his neighborhood, landmarks he recognizes better than the area around the hospital. He swallows. “For the record, tin man, if you could die, I wouldn’t care.”

“Detective...”

“Don’t fucking Detective me. Just thought you oughta know where we still stand.”

“Noted,” RK900 says.

Its hand returns to its own lap. Gavin presses his head against the frigid window, breath fogging the glass. Catching the yellow of the street lights. His arm has begun to ache.

They’re a block from his apartment before either of them speaks again.

“Fowler say anything?” Gavin asks.

RK900 frowns. Brooding. There is something sulky in its silence. “Not specifically but I have not spoken to him myself. The suspects were not apprehended so I am sure that he will—“

“They weren’t apprehended? The fuck does that mean, Robocop? Thought you were this unstoppable force for goddamn nature.”

“I was almost out of bullets. With no knowledge of my surroundings. They were able to slip out from the perimeter. I am sure the captain will have much to say to the both of us but. But. When the opportunity to escort you to the hospital arose I...”

“Followed. You’re more like Conner than I thought. What? Needed to help me get my story straight about why you failed your mission?”

It’s unfair, of course. An answering cruelty to being told the android wouldn’t care if he died. Middle school, childish.

Like this fucking crush.

This whole damn thing.

Even now, Gavin wants to shove decency aside and climb astride RK900’s sturdy form. Ride that android until it’s gone as deviant and haywire with desire as Gavin himself feels.

And it doesn’t even fucking care if he died. Had the audacity to say that shit to his face.

The car rolls to a stop. Gavin’s pulse is still beating overtime in his throat. He gets out of the car without a backwards glance. Isn’t surprised when he hears RK900 doing the same.

“What if I told you you can’t come up? What if I forbid it?”

“You shouldn’t be alone, Detective. Complications could still arise. If you were going to be stubborn you didn’t have to check yourself out of the hospital.”

“So you’re going to babysit me.”

“You are the one choosing to phrase it that way.”

Gavin swallows. He stares up at his building. Snow catching in his hair. On RK900’s lashes. The scar. Melting little trickles.

“Are you gonna fuck me this time?”

“Would you want me to?”

“Just don’t like leaving things unfinished, I guess.”

“You are in no condition to...”

Gavin rounds on it. Pours every ounce of his hurt and his anger and his pent up aggression into biting into its mouth. His shoulder acknowledges the stretch, muscles twinging, but Gavin ignores it. Ignores that neighbors could see them, standing on the street, out on the curb. He fists his hand in RK900’s stupid hair, pulls until they are angled together better.

It doesn’t care about him. It cannot, does not care.

“Fuck off with what you think I’m in any condition to do,” Gavin says. RK900 stares down at him. It blinks, Gavin can’t quite see the LED from here, but he knows already what it’s going through. Yellow, yellow. Warning signs.

“We should take this inside then, Detective Reed.”

So they take it inside.

The keys tremble in Gavin’s hand as he gets them jimmied in the lock. Later, he will blame the cold for the way they clatter from his fingers. It’s not pain, it’s not nerves, it’s not feelings. Just fucking Detroit winter. Brisk, biting numbness.

The keys hit the carpet with a muted thump, but Gavin is already grabbing one-armed at RK900’s shoulder, kicking a leg out to slam the door home. They are already mostly forgotten by the time they have landed, peripheral, unimportant.

Gavin’s bad arm hangs at his side; his fingers twitch, just barely catching on RK900’s waist.

He doesn’t think about the last time they were in this same position. Doesn’t think about how desperate he had been then to get RK900’s hands on him, fingers in him. He doesn’t think about how final this whole thing feels. Inevitable but also culminating.

RK900 lifts him and he stops thinking at all.

He focuses on the physical instead. The rush of arousal in his gut as RK900’s hands grip the backs of his thighs. As RK900 holds him like he weighs nothing. His shoulder protests, but Gavin pushes through the pain, grips RK900’s stupid goddamn hair.

“My room,” he says against RK900’s lips. It’s too intimate, but it’s better than out here, barely through the door. “Second door on the right,” he says.

“If you say so, Detective.”

Gavin bristles at the tone. Not even condescending as it usually is. More conciliatory. Showing belly. If you say so.

“I do fuckin’ say so,” Gavin hisses. Then hisses again as every step sends another ricochet of pain through his shoulder, through his head.

RK900’s blue, blue eyes do no leave his own. Gavin isn’t sure how to read the quirk of its eyebrows or the dilation of its pupils. The frown, it’s frowning, Gavin licks at the seam of those lips until it opens for him. He mollifies his hurt ego by tracing RK900’s teeth with his tongue.

And he starts to feel just a little bit better.

RK900 lowers him to the bed. Lowers, doesn’t drop him or heave him or anything rough, but places him gently. Like they’re lovers or something. RK900’s hands stroke up Gavin’s uninjured side, petting at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Gavin asks, shuddering. It feels good. Those solid and sure but gentle, gentle touches. Fingers sweep sideways, grazing over a nipple and Gavin sputters and arches. Blows a harsh breath between his teeth.

“You are injured, I just—“

“I’m not breakable.”

RK900 grins and there in the curl of its lips is something like the old coldness, the smug bastard leaking out at the edge of this new foreign softness. “I was doing a pretty good job of breaking you,” it says.

Gavin feels himself flush. Blood going all sorts of haywire directions within his body. Filling his cock, filling his face, heat and embarrassment down his neck. “I meant I’m not fragile,” he says. Because he can’t argue the broken point. The fact that he’s sitting here now, gunshot and aching but still thirsting for some action is enough of a tell.

He pushes RK900’s hands out from under his shirt, drags the material over his good arm, his head. RK900 stops him before he can move the injured arm too much. Coaxes him to be a little more careful.

It presses its fingers against the bandaging. White gauze gone grey in the gloom of Gavin’s room. The only light from the hall, from the glittering decals on RK900’s jacket. Gavin’s skin is alien in this lighting, blue and foreign. Like something filled with Thirium. The thought turns his stomach.

He shoves his shoulder harder into RK900’s grip, willing the pain to take his surreal and awful thoughts away. Fucking painkillers, messing with his head.

“Humans are fragile,” RK900 says. “In your nature. Part of your very being.” Its hands move, trace up the fading bruise on Gavin’s neck, then further up, up, to the shallow gash on his forehead. The new and tender bruise from where it punched him. “You are so very, very fragile,” it says, “I just hadn’t realized it until...until we were being shot at.”

Gavin licks his lips.

RK900’s fingers circle round and round the bruise. The light on its temple circles round and round in shades of yellow. And they keep circling these same goddamn points.

Gavin digs the lube out from under the pillows, the easy access. He pushes it into RK900’s steady hands.

“Fuck me,” Gavin says. Mean, there’s bite to it. He drags RK900’s weight fully over top of him, legs to either side of RK900’s hips. One-handed, bracingly, he works his jeans down and off, kicks his sneakers off with them.

So it is just him, his skin, his wounds under RK900’s touch.

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” he says. Glaring up into RK900’s unsure expression. “Your programming doesn’t care if you do, right? So stop fucking looking at me like that.”

RK900 swallows. Nothing to swallow, nothing produced, nothing there, but it swallows. It’s expression hardens just marginally.

“Okay, Detective,” it says. “If you need me to stop, say so.”

Gavin nods, lying. He’s not going to say shit; not now that he’s getting what he’s been chasing for weeks.

But they do need to stop. To fucking stop. Because this dance is self-destructing them both. Rendering them useless. All that shit and the bad guys still got away, escaped out into the streets because...because what?

Gavin huffs, train of thought dissolving to nothing as RK900 grips him, a counterpoint grip working his cock while it drives its fingers into Gavin’s more than pliant body. 

Gavin spreads his legs further. Babbling nonsense, lines ripped from porn again, goading. It keeps him from saying worse shit, more damning shit. More truthful.

“Christ,” he says, “fuckin’ yes, just like that robocop.”

There’s lube all messy and thick, slathered between his thighs, dripping over his hole and RK900’s fingers are merciless. Wrecking him. Gathering the slick with its thumb and shoving it back in as it leaks past Gavin’s rim and over its knuckles.

“Don’t stop,” Gavin says, pleading. “Just fuck me through it, okay?”

“Okay,” RK900 says. And his fingers flex and vibrate against Gavin’s prostate, until Gavin is writhing and panting and coming between them. Hair-trigger. Body so pent up for this it should be embarrassing.

RK900 keeps its word. Gavin comes to from the blank slate of his first orgasm to the uncomfortable sensation of the android still petting, still jammed within him.

He’s overstimulated, sweating and cursing as those fingers knead into him over and over and over. Keeping him from coming down too hard, splitting him open before he can relax into the sensation.

It doesn’t feel good exactly, but Gavin hadn’t expected that it would. Was sort of banking on it not.

“Put it in,” he says, through his teeth, over a groan. “Come on tin man, I wanna see you come. Wanna feel you in me.”

RK900 looks down at him. It’s expression is not as distant as it once was. The blue eyes, the cocked brows.

“Can you not feel this?” it asks. Wriggling it’s fingers once more, leaving Gavin gasping, cock flexing in an effort to fill once more. Fucking overcome biology to show RK900 how good it can be.

When the teasing has stopped once more, and the petting is softer and more rhythmic, Gavin manages to say, “Christ, you menace. I just wanna. You have a dick now, CyberLife gave you the new little toy,” he’s huffing for breath every other word, sounds like an engine, turning over. “You may as well put it to some use.”

“And you are okay?”

“Fuck, yes. RK900. I’m okay.”

The fingers still. The fingers stop. The fingers pull free of him.

“You don’t ever call me by my designation,” RK900 says.

Gavin licks his lips. Body off-kilter with empty he suddenly feels. Weight and blood returning to his limbs. Suffusing lethargically. “Sorry,” he says.

“Do not be.”

RK900’s hands lift his legs; sticky with lube the both of them, though only one was in him and while Gavin can’t be completely disgusted by the thought, some part of him shivers at the thought of being stuffed so fully.

The cock pressing against him feels just as human as any. Just as warm, just as real, just as firm.

“Your readouts are fluctuating,” RK900 says. “You are sure you would like me to do this?”

“Yeah. Pretty goddamn sure I told you that already,” Gavin says. His injured shoulder has begun its complaining once more. Endorphin rush evening out and finding him lacking. He palms his own spent dick with his good hand, tries to ignore the pain while he does so.

The stretch of RK900 finally, finally pushing in takes some of the bite of the gunshot wound. Makes it feel not so big and not so bad. Gavin breathes through his mouth, pushes it past his teeth as RK900 fills him.

The robot is as silent as ever. Which is disappointing. No chuffing breath, no rolling moans. It slides forward until it cannot any longer, until its hips are flush with Gavin’s ass, and then it stays there, silent, staring down at him.

Probably reading his heart rate again or some shit.

“Do you feel okay, Gavin,” it asks.

“Fuckin’ brilliant.”

Its eyebrows flex again. “Would like me to tell you how good you look?” Its hand strokes around where they are connected, teasing at Gavin’s stretched rim. “How good you feel? Would that help you to feel better?”

“Ugh, fuck, no. Just-just move. Move! Please.”

RK900 does, once. If its teasing or if it just truly does not understand the human act of coupling; Gavin cannot be sure. It slides out, slams back in. All the while staring at Gavin’s face.

“Like that?”

“Yes, like that. Stop talking! You’re going to kill me.”

“I thought I could not hurt you.”

Gavin is shaking. On the edge of hard again, body wrecked and abused and all twisted up with confusing conflicting signals. He’s weak. In this moment he is weak.

Which is why he says: “Fuck off, okay? I love you. Of course you can hurt me. You plastic, goddamn asshole.”

The words seem to stick. To stay. Hanging between them. Gavin cannot take them back no matter how much he wishes he could.

RK900 says nothing.

It pulls back, it slams forward. Setting a pace that has Gavin’s teeth clacking together, head bouncing against the mattress. It hurts, it’s a fucking lot, but he wanted this. To be spread out and spread opened and fucked and well...he’s not one to complain when he finally, finally has gotten his way.

RK900’s hand knocks his own away from his cock. Again manages to work him at a counterpoint to the harsh thrusts within him. Keeping his nerves on fire, arousal becoming white hot and sharp again instead of dwindling as it had been.

His cock is hard for a second time.

Gavin should hardly be surprised RK900 kept that lewd promise as well.

“Will you say my designation again, Gavin,” it asks. Eyes searching his face, flitting back and forth so blue and so so desperate. Gavin has never seen it look like that.

“RK900,” he says. “Nine hundred, nine hundred.”

Because it isn’t Connor and maybe that is the important thing here.

Its head collides with Gavin’s shoulder, the uninjured one, as it leans forward to deepen the thrusts. The angle change has Gavin’s toes curling. The teeth biting down at the junction of his throat have him drowning. His cock twitches weakly, spilling into the mess that’s already cooling on his belly. RK900’s jacket dragging through it as well.

Gavin shudders, he falls limp. Above him, RK900 stills. The light on its temple is red, is yellow, is red. Distantly, Gavin is aware that this is it. The two of them cannot go back to what they were before.

There simply—simply, simply—isn’t room for it.

Gently RK900 lowers Gavin’s legs. Cock slipping free from the clutch of Gavin’s overworked body. Its hand strokes up Gavin’s stomach. Touching his throat. Touching his temple. RK900’s hand is white and skinless, melted away to show the plastic chassis.

His thumb catches on Gavin’s lip.

“What are you doing?” Gavin asks.

“Memorizing. I think. Maybe if I...if I can flag this memory in someway it will—They will transfer it.”

“Transfer it? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“CyberLife,” RK900 says. Like it is simple. “I am...I am going to see them, after we finalize our report. Turning myself in for evaluation.”

Gavin sits up. RK900’s hand falls from his face to his lap. Lays there cold and white and mechanical. Starkly, horribly inhuman. “Wait. Wait what?”

“There’s. There must be a glitch in my coding. Some sort of a system malfunction. Terminal error. Nothing is supposed to get in the way of my mission.”

“You keep saying that.”

“But I failed. Don’t you see I f-fucking failed that! Keeping you awake and in danger, being shot at with me in the warehouse would have led to an eighty-six percent chance of successful arrest.”

“Then why the hell did you—“

“Because there was a seventy-four percent chance you would have taken a fatal bullet in the ensuing shootout.”

Gavin blinks. Fatal bullet. His shoulder twinges. Fatal.

“Your programming doesn’t care if I die.”

“It does not. But I made the decision to...to remove you from the picture and I...I ensured that you would not die.”

“Your programming doesn’t care, but you do.”

“Simply put, yes I suppose I do. An unfortunate bug, as I said. Terminal error. I will turn myself in and they will produce a new model that will not have the same defect.”

Gavin laughs, out loud, ugly and stilted between the two of them. How can he not laugh? The absurdity of it all. RK900’s love for Gavin a virus, a fucking mistake, an error in the mainframe. Of fucking course.

“There is no jest in what I am saying, Detective. This is not a joke.”

“I know,” Gavin says. Holding his stomach, bouts of laughter still spilling from his mouth. His feet kick spasmodically within the sheets. Zipper imprints in his calf. “Jesus Christ, I know.”

RK900 swallows. He licks his lips. He again, cuz fuck it, they love each other right, in some fucked up parody of Romeo and Juliet. They love each other, this is as good as carving their names into a heart.

“Then why are you laughing, Detective Reed?”

“I don’t know,” Gavin admits. “Fuck. I just don’t know.”

“Should I leave?”

“What happened to making sure I don’t have a concussion? Aren’t you supposed to be making sure I don’t strain myself here?”

“I can stay,” RK900 says. “For a little while at least.”

“Stay forever. Fuck CyberLife. You can live here.”

“I cannot. The idea that I could is childishly selfish. Moronic even.”

“I love you too, you prick.”

RK900 swallows. Frowning. Pouting.

“I’m serious,” Gavin says. “Stay.”

“I’m...broken. It’s not the way that—“

“So fuck the way that you’re supposed to be.”

“Connor didn’t let anything get in the way of its mission.”

“And Hank Anderson committed suicide three weeks ago. Thanks but no thanks, I’ll take the after school, you’re special so long as you want to be bullshit over that.”

“To be Deviant is a crime.”

“So I’ll goddamn arrest you, then you can’t leave.”

RK900 sighs. His body shifts forward. Forehead resting on Gavin’s uninjured shoulder once more. He breathes. His exhalations are cool against Gavin’s pectoral.

Out of instinct more than anything else, Gavin lifts his hand to pet it through RK900’s hair. The strands are soft between his fingers.

“You should shower,” RK900 says. “You are starting to reek.”

Gavin grins rolls his eyes.

“You’ll stay until I’m out.”

“Maybe.”

Which means no. And Gavin doesn’t know how to change, has no other tools in his arsenal for dealing with this stubborn android. To be deviant is a crime. Jesus, doesn’t Gavin fucking know it.

He gets up anyway. Extracts himself from under RK900’s bulk.

“You’ll want to cover your shoulder,” RK900 offers. “Don’t let the bindings get too wet.”

“Alright, mother,” Gavin says.

He does not say goodbye. Because if he doesn’t say goodbye then RK900 cannot leave. He locks the door to his bathroom, he starts the shower, gets it roaring well before he is actually ready to get in.

When he gets out almost fifteen minutes later; he expects to find RK900 waiting at the door to chide him.

But RK900 is not at the door.

He is not anywhere in the apartment at all.

Gavin stands in the living room, towel in hand and bandages a little bit wet because he isn’t all that good at showering one-handed and he didn’t even fucking say goodbye.

He sits on the couch. Holds his head in his hands.

Outside the day ends, the sun sets.

Fucking brilliant.

—

—

Two weeks later and there is a knock on his door. Gavin answers it, expecting Tina. He’s not officially off sick leave yet, Fowler tore him up and down about reckless endangerment, suspended him with pay until he healed up more.

She’s been bringing him updates on the precinct and on the case.

Neither of them have spoken about RK900, not his involvement in the whole mess, nor what Gavin can only imagine seems like his sudden disappearance.

She knocks again, harder than usual. Demanding. The door rattles, rattles in the frame. Brutal efficiency.

“It’s unlocked,” he yells, turning head enough to glare over the back of the couch. He’s still glaring when Tina opens the door.

And then he isn’t.

“You don’t have any fucking manners,” Gavin says, standing, his heart rate going faster than it should. Swooping lightheadedness as he crosses to the door in three steps. “They didn’t program you with any fucking manners, you shit. You plastic prick. Goddamn bicentennial asshole.”

“It’s good to see you too, Gavin,” he says.

And really, it’s all he has to say.

**Author's Note:**

> This ending feels rushed and there are probably typos but this is series is now complete! Thanks everyone for reading as always, comments critiques crying all welcome.
> 
> Come see my tumblr (vrunkawrites) if you wanna talk about stuff with me!!


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